


forever in a night

by nochanchu



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Drama & Romance, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, but just know that woozi is the evil cupid that everyone should be thanking in the story lmao, uhhh not sure what else to tag this as
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 15:01:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15488535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nochanchu/pseuds/nochanchu
Summary: There’s a long stretch of history between you and your best friend, Kim Mingyu. From your first and last time as lovers to the friendship that has remained intact all throughout, but etched within the seams is the very thread that has always kept you two bonded—it’s nothing short of two hearts that beat as one with an unspoken love.





	forever in a night

**Author's Note:**

> one of my favorite stories to date. I think it'll forever be one of those stories that I hold near and dear to my heart.

The first night is a complete accident. It’s a stupid,  _ stupid _ emotionally compromised mistake that shouldn’t have happened (with your best friend no less)! Did you already mention how stupid it is?

 

When you’re heartbroken, you eat chocolate and ice cream and any of all the fatty, sugar-coated carbohydrates you can contain. You watch movies about heartbreak and ridicule them with tear-stained eyes and vehement finger-pointing because  _ for fuck’s sake _ , they aren’t listening to you from behind the thin glass and it’s taking everything in your willpower not to chuck your remote and the popcorn from your bowl, maybe even the bowl itself too, at the screen because as angry as you are, you’re most certainly not in the mood to get up and fix the mess you’d hypothetically make. 

 

You call up your best friend, crossing your fingers that he isn’t busy with homework or a successful love life, though the latter is actually laughable because Mingyu is even worse off than you are but you need something to get your mind off your own stupidity. That’s why you have him. He’s your go-to. Your rock. Everything you need in a man, really, but even more than that because he’s the one you need that’ll help keep your mental sanity stable enough when shit like some guy—Jung Jaehyun, to be very exact—drops you for some other better-looking chick with probably an even better personality at that. It’s not to say you’re a shitty person, but from the way he talked about her, she seemed awfully great so that’s why you do feel a little stupid for hanging around and thinking that the feelings he was kind of sure were there for you would swept away when certainty and something better rolls in. So sure, you’ve been down over meaningful shit before but this isn’t forgetting Mingyu’s birthday ( _ one time _ , mind you), this actually has you down in the dumps even farther down than those bottomless trenches from the  _ Finding Nemo _ movie. 

 

Now normally, his arrival is filled with hugs and warmth, maybe even a few good (though you’d never say that), cheesy jokes about kicking Jaehyun’s ass for you but it elicits half-smiles and half-hearted hugs because you’re just not feeling much right now. It’s literally everything you need and more, but in a way, this is different because you weren’t really sure or unsure about the outcome with the bleached blond but you  _ wanted  _ it to work. You hoped for it. And it’s that kind of disappointment and hurt that doesn’t just melt away with an empty threat or embrace. It’s not like the time with your first boyfriend at twelve with a boy by the name of Jungkook, who was as sweet and soft as cotton candy, who like the delicious treat disappeared right as soon as you two shared a kiss. He moved away to a different city, and when Mingyu comforted you in this same method, you actually cracked a smile and took him up on his offering for 7-Eleven slurpees and other terribly delicious junk food. 

 

You do wish it was that simple to just forget like the good, old days, but times are different now—you’re older and a little more mature than those gloriously simple sandbox days, with desires and hormones that do more of your actual thinking than your brain, who knows damn well how bad the idea is that’s floating inside your head. It’s pushing its way to the forefronts of your mind, and all you can really see is his handsome visage, because somehow Mother Nature decided your best friend’s puberty should turn him into a borderline six-foot tall baseball jock with a face that is almost  _ too _ , inhumanely handsome to actually be the kid you’ve known since the first grade. It was practically yesterday when he was tugging on your hair and leading you over to the baseball field because there was no one else he wanted to watch him play but you, not even Yoohyeon (and she was best-looking girl in school!). Though as rough and annoying as he was (okay,  _ is _ ), he has his kind, gentle moments, like smuggling the good balls out of the closet after some snot-nosed jerk stole the one you brought for you and him or taking you by the hand to appease your fear of crowds and making sure you stayed right by his side or laying beside you during that terrible weekend-long blackout when you were home alone and your parents were out (he had his first middle school game that following day but he came running just to make sure you were okay), all because out of everyone he’s known, he’s always had a soft spot for you and childhood to even now only proves that deeper and deeper, it seems. 

 

There’s just this moment when he cups your cheek and looks you in the eye to ask, “Are you okay?” There’s a gentleness that sets ease in your heart, and it’s the first moment since exactly eight hours ago that your mind actually shuts up for once. You don’t know what you’re doing but the longer you stare at him, falling deeper into the soft, hickory hues, your eyes flicker down to his lips and watch as they move for a split second before your looking at him again; then, you just go for a kiss. 

 

He doesn’t fight you, surprisingly, and it’s not quite like the ones you two have shared during Spin the Bottle and the truth-or-dare circles at parties for the past few years either. But you like it. You like that your mind goes blank without the sirens or racing thoughts, without the what-if’s and what-could’ve-been’s. You like that it’s with him because he’s always been your person—that sort of comfort that is rare to come across in just anyone. And the thing is he just goes with it, his eyes shut within a moment, soon yours follows, and his fingertips take a firmer grasp on your cheek while the other rests at your hip. Before you know it, you’re both laid across your bed with no clothes, the tear of a wrapper breaking into your mutually breathy moans and the touch of his fingertips igniting burns in their wake that remain seared forever in your brain. 

 

In the early morning when the weight of your actions dawns on you, it’s to your very surprise that he’s awake and cleaning up the forgotten popcorn bowl. His lanky limbs tidying your living room as you look on from the doorway. Your parents forgot to come home, but from the looks of the purple splotches on your collar bones and your hips, you’re more than okay with not dealing with them right now. 

 

The only thing that crosses your mind and parts your lips is one simple question:  _ “Can we go back from this?” _

 

“Do you want to?” Mingyu asks with a simple tilt of his head. He doesn’t look affected in the slightest, though truthfully you find yourself pretty indifferent about the entire thing. Even though you were completely screwed over Jaehyun, you find yourself at peace, like a singular weight has just dropped from your shoulders and you can breathe just a little bit better. “Look, whatever happened last night—we’re going to be okay. This doesn’t have to change anything, y’know, you needed someone and I’m always going to be here for you.” 

 

“And you’re okay with just screwing and pretending nothing happened?” your brows screw together, hands wringing the edges of his T-shirt. 

 

“Believe me, I can’t pretend but I mean this really doesn’t change anything, Y/N. I’m your best friend, you’re my best friend. We fucked, so what?” 

 

You laugh, shaking your head at his logic. “You’re way too casual about this.” 

 

He shrugs, striding over to you in about three steps. His hands find your shoulders. “Is that so bad? You’re the overthinker. Let me be the underthinker. ‘Kay?” 

 

Dropping your hands from his T-shirt, you give his cheek a poke. You never would’ve conceived that doing that with your best friend would be so casual, because everyone grows up with the idea that their best friend is that person reserved from those things, that they’re the ones that will pick up the pieces from a safe distance. But in a way, Mingyu has always been a different person for you. Yes, he’s your best friend, but he’s the kind that you can tell anything and everything no matter, and for the two of you to cross a boundary like that together should be weird, should be restricted from then on because what kind of best friends casually fuck like nothing? 

 

Instead, you just go with your gut and give a nod. Because this was just a one and done right? (No honey, no it was not.)

 

“‘Kay~” 

 

* * *

 

The second time is completely voluntary. An executive decision that you initiate (yet again) because what the hell are you supposed to do when your friends actually banked on the success of your relationship with Park Jimin? Not only was he older but he was also a college student with all access to free booze, but he was undeniably attractive like a devil disguised as a rosy-cheeked cherub. Smooth-talking and a tease. These are things you were well-equipped to handle with having Kim Mingyu, a sudden girl-magnet that senior year (it’s still beyond you considering it’s barely even October), but on the orange-haired boy, it was everything that kept you on your toes and wanting more. 

 

That’s the thing about boys like Jimin—they want to have fun. They  _ like  _ to play around. Correction: they fuckin’ adore it. Of course, he’s sweet and attentive beneath all the selfishness and self-assured confidence, but his capacity for relationships longer than three months were a bigger stretch than your eight-dollar leggings from Amazon. It’s a miracle the two of you even made it into that extra two, but it was a good five-month run. 

 

You just wanted to believe that you could change a guy like him, maybe work around the player nature. You also hoped that something about you made him keep coming back. Maybe it could’ve. Your guts had no doubts that his resolve softened with you. But as spirals come, they go. He just happened to go on his birthday, leaving behind only a simple text that he couldn’t show up to the dinner you planned or even continue what you were doing together, because punctuated at the end of it all was the very audacity of him to conclude that you and Mingyu were something more than you were letting on and his own petty nature kept him from bringing it up because it showed he cared way too much for some high schooler like you. 

 

Knowing that makes you mad. Downright furious, actually.

 

For him to accuse you and your best friend of being more than just best friends. The very gall makes you convinced that Jimin’s using it as an excuse to cut ties with you, and maybe you’re being petty by calling Mingyu to that one corner boba shop in the city but you can’t control yourself. There's this selfish part of you that just wants to hurt Jimin in that way. Even if he didn't know you invited your best friend to come meet you (at the least, he probably has the thought nagging at him in the back of his mind), it's a nice feeling to know somewhere in the bubble of feelings you’re shrouded in. 

 

The pettiness doesn't outweigh your hurt, however.

 

The very truth is you liked Jimin a whole fucking lot. Not just a lot. A whole fucking lot, okay. You and him spent five months together. Five, long and wonderful months together just to be whittled into this measly broken half over your best friend, Kim fucking Mingyu. That's what gets you. Of what sort of action did you display that would indicate infidelity? Was "we fucked once last year" written all over your forehead? Or did you let it slip during one of your drunken escapades? Was that it? What the goddamn hell was it? Because, despite that one night—a stupid one at that—nothing has ever changed between the two of you. In fact, it might've brought you two to a closer level of understanding because nowadays you kind of just knew what was up with him, whether he was feeling some kind of way for a girl or something, but it never triggered hidden feelings for him or any of that cliché shit. He’s your best friend. That's it.

 

You’re hurting. From the moment Jimin left you with those glaring text messages to the moment when Mingyu sits in front of you with furrowed brows and “What happened?” falls past his lips. Of course, you can't hide it from him. Of fucking course, you let it all loose within two breaths. And he looks absolutely pissed at the fact that this is how Jimin decided to end things. Not even face-to-face, but through texts that felt more passive aggressive and heavier to look at the more you stare at your phone screen.

 

Your thoughts are flying in all kinds of directions, as if it weren't enough that today would've been yours and Jimin's fifth monthiversary. You two didn't really care for that kind of crap, but it was more like an obligatory celebration to mock with some food and maybe a movie. Sometimes even a screw or two. But it felt like it could've been something. Maybe nothing like getting married after all the school’s done or anything, but it could've been like those old loves you think back on from time to time or some cheesy shit like that.

 

You don't know where you're going on this train, but you feel Mingyu move next to you in the booth and the warmth of his body radiating on you is enough to shut up all the detours. Like those dings on a train that get muted in the background with a pair of good ass headphones, but instead this happens as soon as as you look over at him with a half-hearted smile. Until it only dawns on you that the only way he could've beat the half-hour travel time to downtown was because of that date he should be on.

 

_ Fuck. _

 

"You must've been busy with Nayeon huh?" you sigh, only briefly recalling how psyched he was to finally go out with her. It makes you feel even worse now. "I shouldn't have pulled you out like this."

 

He glowers at you, bumping your shoulder. "Don't say that. Of course, I'd come find you."

 

Of course you have to say it. You wouldn’t be a very good friend if you didn’t ask. "But Nayeon?"

 

"She's not my best friend, Y/N. You are. If she really likes me that much then she'd see me for another date," he states simply. But when you look at him inquisitively, he can hardly meet your eyes. "There are other girls anyway, y'know. I'm sure I'll meet an understanding one."

 

"Like anyone believes we're just friends," you scoff, patting his leg. He doesn't mind as it remains there either. But for some reason, you kind of wonder why you’re letting it rest there now. You’re usually the withdrawn type when you’re hurt. "I bet she was worried we were more than friends too."

 

"Well..." he scratches the back of his head. "That's true, but still—!"

 

"Still what? Gyu, I—I," you sigh. "I don't even know anymore.”

 

You don’t even know why you’re saying what’s suddenly occurred to you, but you suppose it’s because the admission of truth is often easier said when emotionally compromised. There have been plenty of times when you admitted to things while you weren’t in the right state of mind, and it seems this occasion is no exception. 

 

Even as the words fall, you don’t even bother looking very embarrassed about it. 

 

“Sometimes I'd rather just say ‘fuck it’ and just be with you instead of anyone else."

 

He laughs, ruffling the top of your head. "We could make one of those pacts to be together if we wind up single in our thirties or whatever. Like that one  _ Friends  _ episode! I don't mind."

 

"Oh shut  _ up _ ," you don't even stop yourself from smiling. The memory of that  _ Friends  _ marathon you two did well into the previous summer comes up—all the mutual complaints, the in-depth discussions, and even the expected clean-up’s after you two attacked the screen with an arsenal of popped kernels—even over the particular hilarity of that damn episode. "Let me be sad, dummy."

 

He leans in close, lips a damn hairsbreadth away, it actually has your breath caught in your throat. Your only worry is it wasn't that obvious. "Never, you can't be sad in my presence,” his voice is playfully indignant, but the latter half of his words leave an uncomfortable swipe of heat across your body. “I want to make you feel better, Y/N."

 

"That holds a lot more sexual weight than an innocent one, y'know," you note aloud, regretting it instantly. The corners of his lips curl upwards, with a flash of his pearly whites gleaming beneath in the fluorescent overhead lighting. It makes your heart flip flop all over, and you hate that this isn't the first time it's done that either. "Oh shut  _ up _ ."

 

"I didn't say anything," he says, shrugging. "But if you're really up for that, then I don't mind either."

 

You pull back from drinking the delicious sweetness of your earl grey milk tea, almost blanching because you don't think you've ever felt both so horrified and so intrigued, because an actual part of you wouldn't even mind screwing him right now. The part of you that feels hurt and emotionally compromised actually welcomes the thought of his hands at your hips and the jutting of them against yours. Even the thought of squelching sounds that sounded all too good to be true made you so undoubtedly tempted to just agree, but you hold back specifically for that moment.

 

" _ What? _ "

 

He watches you, deadpanning, "You heard me."

 

"That's a hefty offer, Mingyu. I don't think I can take you fucking around right now," you sharply point out, knowing that  _ you _ are the one bullshitting. And of course, it isn't like you don't want to screw your best friend. You like that he was your first. You also like that it's him, out of anybody in the whole goddamn world, because you know for a fact he isn't taking advantage of you. But you also know damn well that you would be very much taking advantage of him ( _ again _ ). 

 

It’s like, for whatever reason, the universe  _ likes  _ to send him your way whenever you're emotionally compromised. She probably enjoys the tease of putting you two together, only to leave the two of you two to deal with your actions in later relationships. It's silly how simple things would be just to be with him. He knows you, you know him. But at the same time, knowing that he's the kid you've basically entrusted all your secrets with could easily slip from your fingertips like Jimin makes you anxious. He isn’t like Jimin in the biggest way where you haven’t prepared yourself to lose him on the off chance he lost feelings, because that’s what you did with the older man. Unlike him, Mingyu holds more sentimental weight that forgoes a few months and actually melts into years of deeply-rooted connection and attachment that could so easily go to shit if either of you fucked up a relationship. 

 

_ So, then fucking isn’t so bad then?  _

 

You suppose if you weren't getting together with Mingyu officially, then just screwing him and shooing away all those (highly possible) repressed feelings is a much safer bet.

 

Of course, you still feel obligated to ask him, "Can we go back from that? Doing it again, I mean."

 

He shrugs, wrapping an arm around your shoulders that has your mind even blanker than before. At least it's shutting up any more of your anxieties. "It didn't change much before, right?"

 

"True." You look over at him, washing over his features in a quick sweep as if it made much of a difference in your decision-making (it didn’t). He's gotten even more handsome, you notice, and not quite in the "holy fuck, my best friend is hot" kind of way though that has happened once, but more in a "you're a really good fucking person and that's really attractive" way. "Why did you do it last time?"

 

"'Dunno, I guess because you seemed like you needed someone." He gulps, Adam's apple bobbing as his own nerves go down. "And, well, to be frank, you're pretty hot."

 

You let out a laugh, smacking his chest with your free arm. " _ Shut up _ , you punk. Lying to your best friend is a terrible sin, y'know."

 

"Oh?" He raises a brow at you, cheeks becoming prominent from his ever-growing smile. "Well, why don't you show me a thing or two about absolving that?"

 

Your nose wrinkles, one of your fingers now placed atop his lips. "We are  _ not _ doing any of the kinky, roleplaying shit, Gyu."

 

He asks, giving way for more internal cursing, "So, that's a yes?"

 

Even though you  _ know _ shouldn't do this, you find it very hard to actually care at this point. You did call him over there. And, you do need someone to keep your mind off the impending heartbreak. Okay, and you  _ do  _ think he’s pretty fucking hot too. 

 

Giving a nod, you warn him, "My mom's home though."

 

"S'okay, my parents aren't home. They took a trip down to the beach for their anniversary." He gives your shoulder a squeeze before looking at you with a flash of seriousness in his eyes. "Are  _ you _ sure about this?"

 

That is definitely a chance to get out of this mess. Maybe leave this moment without the reality that you really screwed your best friend the same night you were supposed to probably bang your now ex-boyfriend, and it's one of those moments where if you were looking at this situation from afar you'd probably say no and walk away. Maybe take a breather for a day or two before doing some other reckless thing. However, this isn't one of those moments. 

 

There is no narrator, talking about the complications of your life and your skewed decisions. This is on real time with a reality that whatever you do will bite you in the ass later, and it's that sort of thought that only briefly passes through your mind before things go silent. His visage is still very close to yours, and the idea of comfort and utter tranquility begins to spill back in. 

 

The repercussions of fucking him might come back later, but you don't find many problems in it. So, without a second thought, you give nod. All punctuated with a verbal, "I'm dead serious." 

 

And with that out in the open, he grabs hold of your hand (the one that was on his leg) before giving it a squeeze. Something about it just tugs on the jagged pieces of your heart, not that they were all that broken. They’re more hurt, like a wounded pride, because you're almost fairly certain that this is what is ailing you the most about the Jimin situation. Well, that and the fact that this would become one of those unresolved relationships that you'd never have an answer to unless you braved a mutually willing conversation with him. (Not that you would, because again, your  _ pride _ .) 

 

You feel a little better afterwards, at the least.

  
  


The third time… god, the third time is a weird passing of “I’m lonely but you’re on my mind” and “Jesus, me too” that actually has you wishing that Jesus or some either higher deity could stop you from this poor decision-making skill. Because at this point, it’s not just to forget somebody or comfort yourself from heartache, it’s actually a voluntary choice that doesn’t last more than forty-five minutes and you counted because the nagging part of you is trying to remind you that what you’ve done is with your  _ best _ friend and not just any other friend that—even with a given choice—you still wouldn’t opt into, because this time the problem isn’t just your terrible life choices. No, the problem is that you might actually feel something other than disgust and repugnance and exasperation and absolute,  _ platonic _ adoration for a young man you’ve known since the start of elementary school. 

 

You blame Woozi. It's his fault. Absolutely in the "I forced you two together because I know some shit went down between you guys" way. You don't know how he knows anything in the slightest considering neither you or Mingyu ever said a word about the previous times, but it's like he knew somehow. Well, regardless of whether he actually knew or not, it's still his fault and that stupid pantry's too.

 

Okay, and your heart's fault too. 

 

But you still like to believe it's because of an inanimate object and because of that evil demon you and Mingyu have the misfortune of considering a friend, because that’s much easier than facing the music for yourself. If only he had just made you two streak down the street naked or drink some grotesque smoothie or  _ something  _ that didn’t involve an opportunity for something that shouldn’t have been so intimate in such an enclosed space, then maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t be put in this position.

 

_ God, if only it were that simple _ , because it isn’t like Woozi made you have feelings for that giant of a best friend of yours after all. 

 

All you know is that the kiss, as simple as it was, made you do a double take. Like out of all things in life, it's not enough to say that you instantly realized you had feelings for him—that sort of thing takes time. This just made you thoughtful enough to really slow everything down. Those thoughts that you had been used to brushing off in Mingyu's presence made a reappearance, becoming a newfound factor in all your endeavors with him. Whatever you didn't think you would feel for him became something like an added layer to the already complicated relationship the two of you shared. 

 

“Are you okay?” He asks you a few days after the incident, milk teas in hand and some take-out food you both love as sort of a celebration to the upcoming first year in college, because that's what that party was meant to commemorate in the first place. Yet somehow the whole thing managed to make you realize your stupid feelings for your stupid best friend. 

 

You nod nonchalantly, reaching for the bag of goods. But like your chances of escaping your damn feelings for him, it slips from your grasp and hovers a little higher over you.  

 

“Hey!” You try making a fruitless jump for it. 

 

He doesn’t even need to budge a little bit as he simply says, “Liar.” 

 

“Am not,” you declare, glaring at him. Sort of. “Gimme my food, you moocher.” 

 

“Hey, I actually bought this!” Looking down at you, his eyes narrow just a smidgen. There’s a lack of malice that only tells you that this is your own intervention. Either fess up or risk starvation. “Something’s up. Things feel… off.” 

 

“Maybe because the scales of the universe have been tipped because I, the supreme overlord, am hungry.” You try to make another jump for the food, but you realize just how much closer he’s gotten before you’re instinctively stumbling backwards. “D-don’t do that—!”

 

“Do what?” he asks, frowning a little. “What’s going on with you, Y/N? Why’ve you gotten all jumpy around me? 

 

“I—I,” you sigh, rubbing the back of your neck. “Alright, I know I called you over first about hooking up but I—I dunno. I realize how weird that is, because you aren’t really comforting me from anything. It was more like easing some boredom and that was really wrong of me, y’know?” 

 

“Oh!” His voice goes up an octave before both his tone and his arm just a bit but you aren’t even bothering to reach for the food again, “Right. Well, I mean I told you I don’t mind—”

 

“—Why not though?” you ask, brows furrowing. It’s still the partial truth which is hell of a lot better than a whole lie, so you’re not feeling as guilty as before. You’ve long since resolved on not saying a word of your feelings altogether. “Doesn’t it bug you that I’m doing that?” 

 

“I mean, why would it?” You’re about to open your mouth and state the obvious (because  _ duh, why wouldn’t it? _ ) but he continues, “We still talk to each other, support each other, and y’know love each other, Y/N. There’s never once been a moment where I felt like you were genuinely using me for my body or for the sex or whatever. I know that you’ve been hurt and that it led you to some rash decisions and I know that what happened a few weeks ago wasn’t something very conventional for us but… I dunno, it just—it doesn’t bug me. At all. I promise.” 

 

You feel at a loss of words. You don’t know what you were expecting from him exactly, especially considering how unpredictable Mingyu can be, but if there’s one thing that remains consistent with him—it’s his reliability. Even in your own confusion and hurt, because this does bug you for some reason, you’re not entirely sure whether he enjoys being put in this sort of position or the fact that you enjoy being in this position with him. 

 

“Okay?” he asks, tilting his head at you. “Does that ease some of your guilt?” 

 

You involuntarily frown a little, obviously your own guilt wouldn’t just vanish, but for some reason your heart doesn’t feel quite that heavy knowing that he didn’t see what had happened as a mistake. You already know you shouldn’t have done it. You know that doing what you both did more than once will only lead to trouble (and it has). Hell, doing it in the first place came from a place of hurt, yet that still makes you wonder why he even let it happen—after all, he could’ve said no.  _ So why? _

 

“What’s wrong now?” He takes a step toward you, though you make no move to slip away this time. Your heart is still going haywire, your own brain wondering why you weren’t worried in the slightest that he may hear the disaster going on in you. But you remember that even trying to hide anything from Mingyu is a futile effort. Especially now that he’s eying you at a closer level, having long since setting the food down by the table. 

 

“I’m just…” you rack your brain for the right words, dodging his inquisitive gaze for the cream-colored tiles. “Confused.” 

 

“Why?” You can’t even see him but you can tell he’s frowning. His sneakers with the creases in the front have come into view, reminding you that you’ve definitely got to buy him a new pair for Christmas. His warmth is so fucking close, and you swear your heart might fall out of your chest because of it. You don’t understand why you’re reacting this way towards him or why it seems to titillate the butterflies in your stomach to be put in this position with him either. 

 

Even with the likely chance that what you’re feeling is the complete opposite to his, you can’t seem to find any courage or will to push him away from yourself. It’s silly. Probably stupid. Hell, maybe you would’ve been screaming at some actress for pulling the same bullshit. But the image that glimmers in that thought not only includes yourself chucking popcorn at the screen, but with a rowdy companion who gets a little too excited and shows off his pitching skills just to make you laugh and clean up the mess when your mom gets home with daggers aimed at the both of you. 

 

Whatever you’re feeling and whether it transcends the normalcy of what a best friend should feel for their best friend, you know that you can’t push off the subject any more than you have already. If not for your sake, but for Mingyu’s, because he’s worried about you. His hands are balled into fists at his side, trembling from the uncertainty that touching you (close intimate contact-loving and all) may set you off and draw you further away.

 

“I—well—how are you so okay with all of this?” you admit truthfully. Among the many things running through your mind, this feels like the safest bet. “How are you not confused?”

 

Apparently so, because now that you’re looking at him, you can see the worried brows unknit while his mouth parts into a small ‘o.’ He almost looks dumbfounded that you’re really looking at him but you don’t have much time to think after he’s spoken—

 

“I just know that I’m happy you chose me.”

 

Your heart reacts before your brain can, but at the very least your lips clamp shut before you can anything jeopardizing. Instead you tilt your head and furrow your brows, doing the best that you can to emulate your confusion (because you are definitely more confused than ever) and keep your heart from really falling out of your chest. 

 

He laughs, running a hand through his hair. His cheeks give off the slightest bit of embarrassment. It makes him look endearing. You hate it. (No, you fucking love it, and you fucking hate that you love it.) 

 

“You trust me. And that’s not confusing.” 

 

_ Oh dear god, it so is.  _ But you smile, because it does make you happy to see him so wholesome. Even with the guilt of your feelings and the stupid things that keep plaguing you with regret, the more you think about how easily you let this get out of hand and how much Mingyu really didn’t deserve to have a best friend who would put him in this situation just because you’re too emotionally incompetent to deal with them like a normal person. 

 

“‘Kay?” he says, this time propping his hands onto your shoulders. He makes sure to meet your eyes, a contagious grin curving at the corners of his lips. No matter what he’s still your best friend. Your heart may ache for him, for whatever it is you two share in those most intimate moments, but if there’s anything you don’t mind keeping just for a while longer, then it’s moments like this where you can pull him into you with your arms wrapped around his waist and just let the rest of the world fall silent. 

 

Even though you feel your heart rebelling, you still find yourself nodding against his chest, “‘Kay~”

 

* * *

 

What follows the events of that summer is an expected calm before the unleashing of a storm that comes only a few months afterwards—exactly eight months since that mid-July day. And in that time, you’ve found healing in surviving gruelling classes and managing your own time as a human being, even with the dulled embers of your heart’s desires constantly at your side with a goofy grin and poorly-strung words falling past his irritably chapped lips that makes you wish you could forcibly apply a good two or three coats of ChapStick just so he wouldn’t be too lazy to do it later. You see, just because your feelings for Mingyu made an appearance didn’t mean that you would push him out of your life and let the pain of those well-shared memories together overrule your connection with him. There were years and years of history between the two of you, and to see that go away would be worse than any rejection made by him. So, you did as you did best by pushing away whatever remnants of non-platonic emotions away, because this was Kim Mingyu, your best friend, your rock, your go-to when boys like Xu Minghao make an appearance only to make you feel lonelier than ever for reasons you couldn’t quite understand from a third-person perspective, and if you had to decide between quenching your selfish desires to be with him and take on whatever challenges would come in its wakes or simply live on with the knowledge that you once wanted to date your best friend, then you’d rather live on in silence. 

 

And tonight, as always, is like most where you find yourself complaining about the opposite sex to your best friend, who happened to belong to that end of the spectrum. It reminds you of old times, of the memories when you once complained to him about Jung Jaehyun, but you find yourself lacking the same emotional disparity and more of the sexual frustration that comes when, well, you don’t.

 

“I hate him,” you groan, giving the pillow in your left hand a deafening smack with the other. “I hate him I hate him I  _ hate  _ him.”

 

You can hear a groan from the adjacent side to your room, “You said that the first fifty thousand times tonight,  _ shut up _ already!” 

 

Shifting your glare from your pillow, you aim it at the dark-haired boy perched at your desk and lob your makeshift punching bag right at him. 

 

“You shut up. You’ve been talking about baseball since you came out of the womb, but you don’t see  _ me  _ complaining.” He doesn’t even flinch when it makes contact with his head, just letting it sit on his lap while he rests his elbows on his thighs. “Let me bitch about your stupid roommate.” 

 

“For your information, you have complained about me talking about baseball. Relentlessly. In fact, just this week you were bitching about my game—” 

 

“—It was three-and-a-half hours, Mingyu!  _ Hours _ . That’s goddamn torture.”

 

“Imagine playing for that long. Now that’s goddamn torture,” he grumbles, mimicking your tone. Your eyes narrow, another one of your pillows readily available for another attack, but you only pause when you hear him sigh. “But seriously, why are you  _ still  _ hung up on him again?”

 

“Have you not been listening to me?” 

 

He gives you a look, “Do you really think I can decipher your girl garble when you’re like this?” 

 

“I’d like at least an effort, y’know,” you sniff, leaning your head against the wall. “Don’t make me regret calling you over.” 

 

His eyes soften after they give your visage a once over, a terse nod passing before he leans back in his own chair as if to say, ‘effort it is!’ “What’s up then?”

 

“I—I don’t know,” you let out a frustrated sigh. “It isn’t like he’s a terrible person or anything but God is he a pain in the ass.”

 

“Pain in the ass how?” he raises a brow. “Is he bugging you about dumb shit? Forcing himself on you? ‘Cuz I’ll—” 

 

“No! Not  _ that _ ,” you shake your head, actually letting out a bitter laugh as you do. “I just mean he leaves me hanging a lot.”  

 

“Like not texting you back?” 

 

“Well, yes but no, that’s not what’s bugging me. I’m  _ frustrated _ , Gyu.” Mingyu’s brows contort together, as if the picture weren’t clear as day. Though for someone that’s taken one too many baseballs to the head, you can’t exactly blame him for not picking up on your hints. Of all people, he  _ should  _ know what you mean.

 

That punk roommate of his seriously wasn’t bad at all, maybe snippy and grumpy (at times), he could text back more, maybe ask you to hang out once in awhile, but it seriously wasn’t any of those things that made you so mad. It was the fact that your status with one another was blatantly clear, practically crystalline with explicit photos and the occasional, cheeky mark to trademark it all. And still, even when you’re both so close to the ride of a goddamn lifetime, he pulls back and leaves so abruptly, you actually have to ask your roommate if you really did have someone over. Sometimes she can confirm it with playful dirty looks as you order apologetic milk teas equipped with boba and other jellies, but there are times where she gives you a funny look and goes, “You had someone over?” And whether it’s to genuinely fuck with you or not is still up for debate. 

 

“Wha—” 

 

You begin to whine, digging your head further into the wall out of complete sheepishness. You hate that Mingyu was right when he said that Minghao wasn’t the one you should mess with. It hurt your pride to be so damn hard-headed, even more so for your thick-skulled best friend to be so painfully right that your own core was screeching at you for putting it through this two-month long torture. 

 

He waits somewhat patiently for your response but you can see the twitch of his hands from your peripheral and that has you clamping your mouth shut. Had his hands always looked that masculine? Your eyes widen,  _ Oh fuck no.  _

 

“ _ What? _ ” his voice breaks into the never-ending negations running through your mind. 

 

“Just shut up,” you shake your head, shutting your eyes for a moment to collect yourself.

 

You’re definitely just frustrated. There’s no way in hell you’re attracted to your best friend right now (again). This is just another one of those passing phases that come and go every now and then. Everyone goes through ‘em. It’s just one of those moments where you can look at them and say, “I could totally date you right now.” Just… y’know, with sexual implications in this case scenario, and under this rare circumstance, you know exactly how that would go down with him. 

 

He grumbles something beneath his breath, but you hardly hear it when the sound of your heart seems to echoes up and down your body and your thoughts are running free into ridiculous circles all leading back to him and Minghao. If that auburn-haired little shit hadn’t built up your libidio this damn much, maybe then you wouldn’t actually feel those residual feelings from that night in the pantry. Or a few days ago when Mingyu drew you in for a tight hug, his hair slicked back with sweat and his uniform sticking to his lean body all too nicely. Or the husky sounds he’d make when your hair tickled his nose after all-nighters over the summer. Or the way his arms tightened around your waist just to keep you into place and snuggle even deeper that following morning. Or his lips—! 

 

_ Nope nope nope.  _ **_No._ **

“Fuck,” you mutter, opening your eyes just to see his furrowed brows and mouth slightly ajar. “You look stupid. Close your mouth before something flies in, dummy.” 

 

“That’s golden coming from you when you looked like you just had some mind sex or some shit.” He begins to mimic what your face looked like, earning yet another pillow sent in his direction. This time you actually hit your target.

 

“Shut up!” 

 

“Just tell me what’s wrong already!” He chucks the pillow in retaliation.

 

“He hasn’t gotten me off, alright?” The pillow misses your head, caught in your arms before you bring it close to your chest. “I’m frustrated because I haven’t had an orgasm. Is that clear enough for you?”

 

_ Please don’t fucking offer…. God, please don’t let him. _

 

His eyes go wide for a moment before he plainly says, “Oh… well, fuck.” 

 

“Yeah,” you huff, falling completely on your back onto your mattress. “It fucking sucks.” 

 

_ Oh thank fuck. _

 

Mingyu lets out a grunt, your swivelling chair now rolling toward the desk while he takes half a step and his weight now dipping your bed downwards as he pats your thigh. It’s warm and comforting, at least in the emotional aspect, which was all you really needed from his presence. Maybe some banter just to get your mind  _ off _ your frustrations.

 

“Haven’t you… tried… doing it yourself though?” he carefully asks, leaning against the wall and your partially on your calves. 

 

“Believe me, I have but if I wanted to just do that then I wouldn’t have been trying to mess around with him,” you deadpan, moving your arms behind your head as you steady the smooth, white ceiling. 

 

“Then why mess with him if he’s not giving you what you want?” 

 

You frown a little. Of course, you considered this, and it’s so damn simple it’s almost painful that he’d be the one to state the obvious. Mingyu does have his moments, so you’d give him props for the help. That’s exactly why you called him over, actually. Even though he could be painfully clueless with anything else besides baseball and the kitchen, he knew you and knew what to say when you needed to hear advice. 

 

“Should I?” Your gaze flits over to his, and your brows raise in anticipation. 

 

“I mean why waste your time, right?” He then grins, “‘Sides, you can come with me to Cheol’s party tomorrow night. Maybe you can find yourself a new toy to play with.” 

 

Your nose scrunches at the comment and earns him a small kick to his side, but you do like the prospect of a party, especially Seungcheol’s parties. They usually wound up being really fun, whether you came home with anyone or not, anyway. The older boy just had a knack for entertaining others, always incorporating the best music and drinks, even being attentive to his guests.

 

Although, he often pestered you about yours and Mingyu’s status. He’s been so sure that you two would wind up together, but that just makes you curse Woozi for not letting that incident slip. Ironically, it seems you haven’t let it slip either. You don’t know if Mingyu has, though. You’ve never asked, and a part of you is a little scared to for some reason.  

 

“Yes? No?” he asks, moving to lay by your side. His warmth already seeping through to your side as he curls in toward you. 

 

“Maybe,” you sigh, remembering you were supposed to meet with Minghao tomorrow. 

 

He says suddenly, “I won’t go if you don’t.” 

 

“Why?” you laugh as he pouts, though you can’t ignore how much your heart is going haywire from this position and the sudden proclamation. 

 

“Cheol said I’d have to pay if you didn’t come, and I’m a poor, poor college student, y’know.” 

 

“I’ll let you know, ‘kay?” 

 

His lips loosen curl at the corners ever-so-slightly, dark brown hues glinting in nothing you’ve ever seen before, but you don’t particularly care to decipher it. Your mind is still wrapping around the fact that you really would’ve said yes to him in a heartbeat, if not for Minghao looming right in the in-between. 

 

The auburn-haired boy doesn’t really remain in your mind, however, instead you find your brain infiltrated with screeches as you find Mingyu’s arms wrapped around your waist. His cheeks pressed to your bicep. 

 

“‘Kay~”

 

* * *

 

Besides a massive  _ fuck you _ (which is actually a lot more normal than the average person would think), the first thing that crosses your mind when you see Minghao is your decision from last night. It’s simple, to the point, and really, it’s sitting on the tip of your tongue, so ready to just fall past your lips in just one breath. But instead of letting out your grievances and stomping out this thing like you decided, all you can think is  _ fuck _ as the taste of chocolate and caffeine on his unbearably plush lips fall on yours. 

 

It’s poor decision-making, of course. After all, you could really just push him away and say, “Woah bud, we’re through. I’m better at getting myself off than what you’ve given me these past few weeks.” Instead you continue to let him kiss you, relishing in the taste of  _ something  _ to sate the growing fire inside you. Terrible, you already know. Do you care? Not particularly.

 

All sorts of rationality begin to fly out the window as he tugs you along to push you onto the bed. The plush bed padding conforms to the curvatures of your back, dipping further as he straddles your waist and grinds his crotch harder into yours as if the constrictions of both your jeans weren’t enough to elicit delicious waves of friction. Each gyration enough to coax a louder breathy moan that feels like music to both of your ears. 

 

His lips look unbearably bare caught between his teeth, the reddish brown tendrils of his hair clinging to the sides of his visage as he seems to lose himself in his own ministrations. Without thinking, you reach forward and beckon him forth with the pull of his T-shirt and coax his lips free to meet yours with a fervid hunger because the daunting reality that this would end like any other relationship you’ve had before—official or temporary—only makes you want to cherish this moment even more. 

 

The way you go about things may be odd, even so much that it even has Minghao pulling back with heaving attempts at catching up with the loss of breath but you see the alluring need reflecting off his dark hues. They’re contorted with hints of something you weren’t quite sure what to think, but the longing is different from the lust that has you blinking in confusion. 

 

“What’s wrong?” you ask, loosening your hold on the grey material. The air feels unremarkably familiar like that plaguing distance has returned yet again, but this time you have no idea why. Was it you? Was there someone else? 

 

“I—I don’t think we should do this anymore,” he straightens up, moving off of you. Air fills your lungs, but there’s no relief in it when you feel your brows furrowing in a deeper curiosity. 

 

You want to half-joke, but it comes off a lot more bitter than you’d like: “That was supposed to be my line.” 

 

“I’m sorry,” he sighs, moving toward the edge of the bed as you sit up to do the same. Neither of your legs brush up against one another, but you can tell that it’s on purpose from the way he pulls his hand away from your proximity and tightens in his lap. “I haven’t been very good at whatever this is.’ 

 

“Well, is there any reason why?” When he raises a brow at you, not that you miss the flash of realization cross his features, you sigh, “I know you’ve been holding back, Hao.”  

 

He opens his mouth for a moment before clamping shut, any explanation now hidden behind his teeth and swallowed down as his Adam’s apple quivers ever-so-slightly. It rubs you the wrong way just a bit. To think that he was pulling away without even a reason. For multiple reasons, it hurts. 

 

“Are you going to tell me why?” you try again, hoping to search his eyes for anything resembling an answer. Something that would make sense to this whole ordeal. Even in all your time spent with Minghao, you never would’ve pegged him as the type of person to hold back his feelings. From the countless instances you’ve seen him lay waste upon his friends and tearing earfuls into random strangers on the street for being rude, inconsiderate jerks, it’s actually hard to believe that this is the same outspoken boy in front of you. 

 

You carefully try again, curiosity getting the better of you and stubbornness keeping you from pulling you away and giving up already. “Minghao,” the call of his name elicits a small eye dart in your direction, but you don’t miss the shame that’s washed over his dark hues. “You can tell me anything, you know that already… what’s bugging you?” 

 

“I—fuck,” he sighs, heaving out a laugh. “You and Mingyu. That’s what bugs me.” 

 

You feel a deep knot anchoring your stomach even further down, as if it were possible for it to sink into the deeper recesses of your body, but you find your mind clouding with far too many thoughts to actually organize a cohesive comparison. You’re suddenly thrown back to that year Park Jimin dumped you over text, how easily he dropped you and used your friendship against you to let you go. You can feel your nerves careening and hanging precariously over a ledge that would only lead to the demise of your heart. It’s only been a few months, but the connection and relationship you had been sharing with Minghao wasn’t a passing fling. If anything, you swore it could bloom into something without thinking too deeply about it, because that’s just how easy it is with him. 

 

Of course, the more you ponder this, the more you begin to realize just how fatal this train of thought is. You’re reminded more and more of your situation with Jimin and how crushed you had been and how angry you felt that your friendship with someone outside of this relationship was the sole factor in the end of what could’ve been something. And you know that you’ve shown no sort of interest or previous emotions for your best friend. You’ve staunched away those flames, let them simmer back down into your close-knit relationship that has only ever been as platonic as you two have always been. It just confuses you how easily you’re lumped together with Mingyu when a relationship goes awry and you hate how easily you’re assumed to be acting in infidelity with him when it’s never been like that in the slightest. 

 

You’re about to voice your feelings, each syllable ready to fall out of your lips in a semi-calm manner, but Minghao’s pierces the still air with a scoff.

 

“C’mon, Y/N. You can’t sit here and tell me that nothing’s going on between you two.” 

 

He probably doesn’t mean to sound so accusatory, but you find your eyes narrowing anyway. Who was he to say you had feelings for Mingyu? He wasn’t you. He didn’t know how you felt or how much you worked to get those feelings out of your system. You wanted to make this work, to enjoy the elation of a casual relationship like this one. 

 

“I can, because nothing’s going on between us,” you reply sharply. “I think I’d know if I was screwing my best friend, while I’m not screwing you.” 

 

“I’m not talking about fucking him,” he shakes his head, while his brows furrow. His eyes remain trained on yours, unrelenting without a chance of backing down in the slightest. “You love him.” 

 

“W- _ what _ ?” you splutter, eyes blown wide. “Where the flying fuck did you get an idea like that?” 

 

“I have eyes. I don’t know what the hell happened between you two for you to react like that, but I know there’s more going on between you two than you realize.” If it wasn’t enough of a shocker, he even goes as far as stating simply, “I know for a fact that he’s in love with you.” 

 

You didn’t like what Minghao said. In fact, you didn’t like this conversation, period. It actually feets like one of those conversations you would have with yourself whenever your thoughts rotated back to Mingyu. And to have that conversation with someone you were supposed to be romantically involved with feels even more like a slap in the face.  _ Is this how Jimin felt? Is that why he disappeared without a trace? _

 

You shake your head, willing the influx of thoughts away. Regardless of the faint traces of familiarity, you don’t like the inkling of false hope (or the very sensation of hope in this sense at all) and you certainly didn’t like how hellbent this auburn-haired man seems on it. You could practically feel his defiance as he didn’t dare back down on his theory no matter how much you tried to convey any other conjecture with your own level stare. Because, under what kind of goddamn basis could constitute him saying such a thing ? How could  _ he _ , of all people, known when you were constantly side by side with that baseball player?

 

You retort, “That’s ridiculous. You can’t even tell me  _ how _ you know this. It’s probably bullshit anyway.” 

 

“But, is it really?” He raises a brow at you, gaze sweeping over your visage and even resting on your twiddling fingers before the corner of his lip quirked upward. “You’re acting awfully defensive for something you’re calling bullshit on.” 

 

“Or,  _ maybe _ ,” you pipe up, glaring even harder than before. “I’m defending myself because you’re accusing me of being in love with my best friend? And maybe, just fucking maybe, I’m trying to figure out where the fuck you’d get an idea—which is complete bullshit, by the way—like that.”

 

“Like I said, I have fucking eyes.” He lets out a deep breath, breaking your stare down just to soften his just a smidgen as he continues, “And ears…” 

 

You don’t say anything then, brows only furrowing in response to your own anxiety bubbling in the pit of your stomach— _ maybe I did fuck up and slip up after all… _

 

“You probably didn’t mean to let it slip one night, but I know you and Mingyu fucked in high school. And it isn’t like Woozi’s the greatest at keeping secrets either so I know about the kiss too.” You feel a lot warmer than he’s ever made you feel, even when the distance seems to become clearer and clearer the long you’re there. “I dunno what really went down between you two and if whatever either of you say is bullshit because I never bothered to confirm it with him, but what I do know is that he’s crazy about you and I don’t think I can… get in between that.” 

 

Without saying the words, it’s like he’s telling you: “And now I know you love him too.” His very voice, the downcast in his eyes—it’s everything you least expected to see today, and yet it’s also under your own whim that you rise from the bed and hesitate with words on the tip of your tongue. What could you possibly offer Minghao that could comfort him? You don’t even know how long he’s known any of these things, but knowing them altogether must’ve put him in a weird position. For him to end things with you… well, you get it. 

 

Although part of your pride wants to argue with Minghao just to denounce all his claims and make him feel like shit for ever bringing it all up in the first place, another part of you knows that there’s really no of convincing him otherwise. He’s stubborn and well-natured. Even if he is an annoying smartass, he cares about Mingyu (and you) enough to let go of you. And even though you can’t exactly see his whole point in doing it, you also can’t help but find yourself muttering an apology to him anyway. 

 

The last thing you remember doing before you leave his room is press a kiss to his cheek. Then the rest of your actions blur together and Seungcheol’s becomes your next destination. 

 

* * *

 

Just as Seungcheol is about to charge Mingyu, you come bounding up the stairs of the fraternity house. It creaks beneath you but you hardly find a reason to care as you send a passing wave between the two with a tight-lipped grin spread across your visage. You try not to let the previous conversation get to you while you’re conversing with the two but it seems that any mention of Minghao goes ignored with an occasional glare to finalize your response, and Mingyu is no exception. 

 

His eyes go wide for the briefest of moments before he drops the subject, slipping past Seungcheol and Dino with you at his side. Emotions you’ve been bubbling up inside you is beginning to spill over and a prickling pain in your chest has you reaching for the offered assortment of drinks with a fervid vigor that gives you whiplash for a second. At the least, no one asks why you’re trying to get shit-faced, but perhaps the reasons are written all over your visage now that you’re letting go of the mask. 

 

There comes a blur of exchanging the usual pleasantries with Jeonghan and other friends that most certainly did  _ not  _ include Woozi (that damn bastard earned himself the bird after the raucous sounds he made at the sight of you and Mingyu together) and even partaking in the festivities of a good, ol’ round of Beer Pong and taking some time to shimmy your way around the dance floor with the dark-haired man trailing you and downing a drink each time you do tried to take two at once.  

 

But just as quickly as you arrive to the party, you find yourself preparing to leave all because the two of you have put yourselves in a precarious situation in which the narcotics have finally kicked in and all forms of your self-control seem to fade the moment Mingyu truly comes into view in all his dark-haired and handsome glory. His visage is too close to yours but only because his cheek presses against the coolness of the wall like yours. You don’t miss the way the two of you involuntarily move closer, your dilated irises flickering between one another and one another’s lips, with the blatant urge to say ‘fuck it’ and just go for it.

 

Unlike the countless times you’ve brought up the whole ordeal, it’s actually Mingyu who makes the first move with a more-than-expected eye-rolling line that has you guffawing at first—

 

“How about one more for old time’s sake?” 

 

Your nose scrunches as you respond, “That’s what you’re gonna use to pick me up?” 

 

“I mean, I could literally pick you up if you want,” he shrugs, smiling even deeper as you take a small step back, because there’s really no telling what he’ll do sometimes. “But I’m dead serious.”

 

“No,” you shake your head, giggling again, “you’re drunk and your name’s Mingyu.” 

 

“Silly,” he grins, looking at you earnestly. “I mean it. If it’s what you want then I’m more than okay to make you feel better.”

 

_ Of course he knows something’s wrong... _

 

You’re about to sigh, “Well—” 

 

His voice goes down an octave or so, “Plus, I  _ know  _ I do way better than Xu.” 

 

His cockiness makes you glare at him, but not in the ‘you’re dead wrong” way but more in a “you’re so irritatingly right” way. In this very moment, your desires are pushing past all the nagging logic that has stopped you in the past. You know you shouldn’t do this. You know that jeopardizing your friendship and willfully screwing him also means screwing yourself over. But you also know how much you want to feel him underneath you. To finally have a taste of his lips that you’ve craved since senior year. The very idea of it is enough to coax a single nod, and now you’re both on your way back to your apartment. 

 

You’re there quicker than you expect, but the blur of events is much like your encounter with Minghao. It all leads back to Mingyu and his strong hand in yours as he tugs you along the familiar, darkened path back to your room. No one seems to be home, but you’re absolutely certain that whether anyone was or not, it wouldn’t matter. 

 

This has been a long time coming. 

 

Each grueling month since you put an end to your fun with Mingyu has been hard, and conditioning yourself to push away the feelings you began to cultivate for him has been even harder. But with the opportunity of this night, everything is coming back and the forever you two shared begins to bloom once more.  

 

He has you laid out beneath him, his member so closely pressed against your thigh, you’re practically itching to feel it deep inside of you. However, you can’t help but let the words tumble out, “I—I kissed Minghao earlier.” 

 

He looks at you with a smirk poised on those beautiful lips of his like that fact doesn’t change a damn thing. Instead of answering right away, he presses his own mouth to yours, fluttering pecks before he trails a way down your neck and onto your chest where rough nips take place. “I don’t care.” His voice is low, eyes glinting in dark-eyed lust. “You’re here with me now, babe.” 

 

His lips are back on your body, trailing the places Minghao never once touched with such a fervid flurry, your head is spinning as it tries to keep up with each of his ministrations. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted, even more than you would’ve anticipated as his kisses feather off and he lavishes the reddened areas with his tongue in soothing circles that has you squirming.  

 

He doesn’t hold back as he makes his way down, detouring only to fondle your breasts with his hands and suckling on the perk nipples, before nipping his way down your torso and stopping right above your lower half. His hands are on your thighs and his soft exhale meets the clothed mound, squeezing your soft skin as soon as you find yourself squirming from the sheer anticipation. 

 

You remember his playful nature from the previous time, but this time is even more frustrating with his very lips so goddamn close to the spot you’ve  _ needed  _ to be touched for the past two months, and not just by your own doing. You need someone who can touch you in all the right ways and hit all the right spots. You need… you need… well, fuck, you need him. 

 

Not in the “I can’t function with anyone else but you” but in a “you can fuck me in all the right ways and  _ you get me _ ” way. If there’s anyone in this world that knows your body as well as you know yourself, it’s him. And if there’s anyone in the world that gets your emotional fluctuations, it’s him. And having this opportunity where his face is this close from giving you the orgasm you’ve-so-craved for the longest sixty days in this whole year, it’s almost painful to not be able to buck your hips properly because of how well he’s keeping you in place. 

 

“ _ Mingyu _ ,” you whimper, attempting to move once more but find that he’s keeping you right there on purpose. The smile curving on his lips is lopsided but the light in his eyes tells you just how excited he is. 

 

He breathes hard against your core as he asks, “Yes?” 

 

“Please,” you squirm once again. 

 

“Please what?” he blinks, almost innocently. You almost want to spit a proper retort at him but before you can blink one of his hands leaves your thigh just to graze across your panties. “Did you want me to touch you here?” 

 

All you can do is gasp because _ holy fuck _ his fingers feel so fucking good against the lips, and that’s just the outer portion! To think he could do wonders (as always) when he reaches past your panties makes you quiver, earning an even wider grin splaying out across his stupidly handsome face. 

 

“Or here,” he tries once more, actually going as far as teasing the edge of your panties. 

 

“Please,” you gasp out, trying to wriggle, to no avail. 

 

“Just tell me what you want, baby,” his voice is gentle, softening as they watch you with gleaming interest. He’s always adored the way he could make you come undone. Even during the previous times, there’s almost always been an indiscernible look in his eye that just told you how much didn’t hate what happened between the two of you. Whenever you saw it, your mind truly did shut up, and tonight really is no exception. 

 

“You,” you answer, feeling your heart jump when you hear his breathing hitch. You vaguely hear him muse, “That’s not very specific.” 

 

But you hardly control yourself as you bluntly say, “F-fuck, your fingers, Gyu. I w-want your fingers.” 

 

And just like that, as if a switch turned on in him, a poised look on his visage tells you that what you just said was all he needed, because it takes only a split second before your thighs are free and your core is bare to the world. Your panties decorate your floor, along with his T-shirt and pants that had been thrown off since he had you laid out on the bed. He doesn’t even bother letting you moisten his fingers, instead doing it himself in at a snail's pace before pushing past your lips and tracing a circular pattern against the bundle of nerves. 

 

You mutter an “oh my god,” throwing your head back, because this is exactly what you’ve need this year. The only thing you’ve truly desired since you put an end to your ministrations with him, because it seemed too overly complicated to deal with. But right now? It feels all too damn simple—it’s almost hard to believe you’ve been depriving yourself of this in favor of taking the high road. 

 

_ Screw the high road tonight, _ your brain immediately pipes up, jutting your hips in a particular way that has you mewling once again.

 

He increases the pace of his fingers in the exact way you’ve always loved it, each thrust fueling the pent-up orgasm that’s been practically begging for you to have, because for once you’re finally accepting what your heart’s been crying out for. You know it’s wrong. You’re drunk, and you’re not in the right state of mind right now, but it almost flies out the window just to feel the blissful euphoria wash over you. 

 

Your very essence coats his fingertips, and he makes the mistake of bringing them to his lips just for a taste and to say the very damned words that had you ready for a second round the first time, “You taste so fucking good.” 

 

Without another thought, you put your hands on the side of his face, tugging him in for another deep and long kiss. It’s not quick as fervid as the plenty that came before, but it’s enough to have you both gasping. The taste of yourself and the Corona he had are on your lips, giving you reason to take a long, lavish lick on your bottom lips before you get ready to give him a taste of what he must’ve wanted. 

 

However, he stops you. His hand is on your wrist, a shake falling at his head as he answers your unspoken question, “I can wait— _ I want to please you _ .”

 

“Fuck,” you tip your head back, propping yourself up by your elbows. “You really fuck me up, y’know?” 

 

He smiles, pressing his lips to your forehead, “I just want to make you feel good.” 

 

You want to respond, feeling an obligation to, but he stops you with his fingertips. They travel to the stray hairs framing your visage, tucking them behind your ears before he asks, “Won’t you just shut up and let me?” 

 

You roll your eyes, feeling your cheeks burning beneath your overhead lights. Despite how much your heart is fluttering, the burn in your core still hungers for a real taste of what he has to offer, so without another thought to convince yourself otherwise, you give a simple nod. 

 

“Okay, fine.” 

 

He goes in to kiss you once more, much like your own kiss, but this is drawn out with his teeth grazing your bottom lip. As soon as he releases it, he reaches for your nightstand adjacent to the bed for the stash of condoms you keep there in case of occasions like this one and offers it to you.

 

With a smile, you grab it and carefully rip open the foil to place the contraceptive onto his exposed member. He’s gone a little soft in that brief intermission until he gives himself few pumps that has him tipping his own head back. He lets loose a guttural sound, the sound of your name garbled in between as his hand is no longer his own but rather it’s yours. 

 

The control is literally in your hands, though instead of teasing him like you wish to, you decide to give it to him easy. It’s been  _ that  _ long of a wait, and you refuse to push it along further. Plus, the very act of a handjob is a simple task that doesn’t require much effort. All you really have to do is exert only two kinds of pressures: 1) from the grasp of your hand, and 2) from the sheer force of the pumping. 

 

You know exactly how he likes it—it’s really no different than most boys—not quite too fast but not slow either. His immediate response is to tip his head back, letting out a low whimper that has a smirk curving on your lips. You decide to fuel the fire and add a slight press of your thumb on his tip, releasing your grip on him. He’s about to let loose a complaint, but before he can speak, he watches you take your thumb to your mouth and lavish the appendage. 

 

His lips fall open and he says, “Fuck.” 

 

“Are you ready?” you hum, pushing him onto his back. He nods and you begin to slip the condom onto his hardened length. 

 

He whimpers once again. But he doesn’t say a word as you rise from your position to straddle his waist. You ask once more as you hover, “Are you sure about this?” 

 

He blinks, looking up at you with eyes that have already stolen your heart and the soft touch of his hands are on your waist to give them a squeeze. 

 

“I’m absolutely certain,” he smiles raising his brows at you. “Are you?” 

 

“Of course,” you whisper, moving your hands onto his length to position it to your entrance. “With you, always.” 

 

Without another word, you lower yourself onto him. He’s still thick as ever, but the burn of the stretch washes away as your usual ministrations begin. Your very core feels full to the brim from taking him in, even as you begin to jut your hips at a particular angle in search of the right spot. His hands remain on your waist, giving you squeeze every now and then. It’s like he’s reminding you that it’s him and not anyone else. And as full as your heart feels, your alcohol-hazed brain takes action and has you falling into your carnal instincts. 

 

You don’t think about how this is him, and how this is wrong of you to let yourself do. You think about pleasure and how the two of you are going to feel the best goddamn orgasm either of you two have had since that summer, and although it feels like eons ago, you can still feel the waves of euphoria right now. 

 

Having him guide you and letting you rest of your palms against his bare chest as soon as you find your G-spot is much appreciated. The small whispers he keeps repeating go over your head; however,  you feel the knot inside your core slowly coming undone as the rutting of his own hips induce more and more bliss with each thrust. 

 

“ _ Mingyu _ ,” you repeat in breathy moans, each one getting louder and louder and your skins slap against one another. And each time you do, his hips don’t relent, allowing you to come undone after just a few moments. The strength in your arms wanes and leaves you with no choice but to practically collapse atop his chest, though he voices no complaints. “Fuck.”

 

“That’s it, baby,” he mutters as he manages to move you beneath him. His finger presses against your clit, leaving you with sensitivity and a pure sense of bliss. “Let it all go.” 

 

And in that moment, you fucking do and it feels so damn good. 

 

What takes place afterwards happens in a blur, but you’re certain that he manages to get off as well, your name falling past his lips in the prettiest sound that has your heart going haywire. He slips himself out of you and tosses the condom away, but he doesn’t get back into the bed until he’s coaxed you out of it to relieve yourself and pull on a T-shirt, because after the first time, you two remembered just how important it was to relieve yourselves and avoid UTIs! 

 

By the time you return from the restroom, the comforter is different and the old one is tucked into your hamper at the corner of the room. He’s curled up on the left side, though a corner is dog-eared just for you. Instead of speaking, you decide to thank him later when you two wake and take the invitation of his arms with heavy-lidded eyes and soon drift off to sleep. 

 

* * *

 

When dawn arises, its gradient hues washing your side of the world in muted shades of tawny and even the barest shades of frost, you wake up. 

 

The expected weight of Mingyu’s arm draping over your waist is yet to be found, but you know that he’s still in the bed. His warmth is seeping in onto your left side, beckoning you to the coziness of his side that only he can offer, and yet there’s a stark coldness that reminds you that there are things the two of you need to talk about before moving forward, as always. Still, this time is different. You don’t know how you know, but you just do.

 

Your head pounds a little as soon as he pierces the still air, but you power through because it’s that important—

 

“Do you still think about that night in the pantry?” 

 

* * *

 

_ “You’re in love with each other, Y/N!”  _

 

_ The burning glare of Woozi would have anyone recoiling, as many people in your mutual friend group (and even those outside of it) knew just how scary he could be, especially after the Guitar Incident of freshman year that still has Mingyu deeply scarred. But unlike the others, you refuse to back down against him. Especially about his outrageous accusation.  _

 

_ “No, I am  _ **_not_ ** _!” You’ve had to emphasize this point for as long as you and Mingyu have known one another, and yet the message still fails to seep into the minds of your close friends. In some cases, it’s always been a running gag, almost a bet that the dynamic duo would finally consummate their secret love and get together, but it’s a bit of running gag of your own to know that this testament is actually bullshit, because nothing has changed since you and your best friend fucked.  _

 

_ You would think that something would bloom in that shared time together, but nothing has happened. Nothing’s changed. You screwed twice and you haven’t suddenly realized that you adore the way he can’t seem to sneeze in his own fucking elbow instead of a goddamn hand or the fact that he looks very adorable making spaghetti like that one time he bet you his newfound skills have reached a groundbreaking level (though eventually you did admit that it has improved since he first tried his hand at the culinary arts). But still, nothing has changed. Nothing will change.  _

 

_ You even go as far as saying, “It’d be impossible for anything to happen between me and him, Woozi.”  _

 

_ But the narrowing of the blond-haired boy’s eyes makes you want to take it back. The glint of mischief and the way he says, “Oh?” both pisses you off and actually kind of terrifies you.  _

 

_ There are only two times you’ve ever realized you fucked up, and this was that second moment. The first was when you let Mingyu teach you how to skateboard—to say the least, you still have that scar on your leg from the stupid fall into the bush and you still haven’t set a foot on those cursed deathtraps since then. Though somehow you kind of wish you had been on a skateboard in this moment.  _

 

_ “I call bullshit,” he says simply, brow raising. “I know something happened between you two. I don’t know what but I know something did and it’s making you two act weird.”  _

 

_ You try to guffaw, but it sounds more like a nervous choke. It only makes him narrow his eyes even more.  _

 

_ “Nope, nothing.” It’s a blatant lie. He goddamn knows it, but instead of calling you out like you expect, he smiles after a moment. “What?”  _

 

_ “So, if you two—I dunno—wind up in my pantry after this round of truth or dare, you won’t jump each other right on the spot?” He crosses his arms against his chest. “Because at the least, if nothing has happened between you two, lemme just point out that the sexual tension between you two is even worse than Dino and his right hand and that’s some serious shit.”  _

 

_ God, you don’t know who you want to choke more—yourself or this dude you’re supposed to consider your second closest friend. But instead of confessing, because fuck no are you going to let everyone be right ( _ **_especially_ ** _ Woozi) about you and Mingyu. No, your stubborn ass is going to keep denying this shit until you die.  _

 

_ “Nope, not even a little bit, you fucking demon.”  _

 

_ He smirks, nodding slowly. “So, is that a promise?”  _

 

_ Your eyes narrow, blood pressure practically reaching its peak because no matter what he’s always known how to push your buttons. “Fucking bet.”  _

 

_ He holds his hand out to you, which you begrudgingly take with blatant vehemence. He looks you in the eye, “I can’t wait to commemorate your loss later, sweets.” _

 

_ You scoff, “Oh fuck you.”  _

 

_ Before turning on his heel for the kitchen, getting ready to gather the group for the well-awaited game, he winks, “You’ll thank me later!”  _

 

_ Mingyu returns to your side after catching up with a few friends he hadn’t seen from middle school. His brows are knitted together at the sight of your seething visage, but he sees Woozi retreating figure as the kitchen door flutters and a daring smirk curls on his lips. “He piss you off again?”  _

 

_ You groan, nodding, “You have no fucking clue.”  _

 

_ He pats the top of your head with some sympathy before snatching two of that flavored vodka Woozi managed to convince his brother to buy and  it burns like a motherfucker but you take it anyway because you know you’ll need it to get through the night. Of course, you’re not going to mention the conversation to Mingyu at all. There’s really no point in it considering his height and his somewhat intimidating looks do nothing to the short boy, and if anything, you’re better off facing off in a fight with that demon than your best friend.  _

 

_ And it isn’t like you have a chance to tell him anyway, because Woozi bursts into the room, this time with the hordes of people and a bottle of Fireball just to announce everyone’s required participation in the game.  _

 

_ You feel absolute dread in the pit of your stomach as you find yourself sitting in the circle with the endless possible scenarios in how Woozi will turn this shit on you. Even if you chose truth, you know damn well he’d make that option just as bad as the dare, and honestly, being in that enclosed space with Mingyu could hardly harm a damn thing anyway.  _

 

_ Even with the fear of what could happen, because  _ what’s really there to fear anyway? _ , you mentally prepare yourself for whatever may come. You don’t care if the table gets flipped on you. And you don’t care about what Woozi thinks, because it’s you and Mingyu who know the truth and no one else. So, with a newfound resolve, you await your turn.  _

 

_ The order goes in counterclockwise, with you coming after Mingyu and  a few other souls that take the easy road. The first three of them have gone, but by the time your best friend’s turn comes, you almost don’t bat an eyelash when he asks for ‘dare’ until it hits you that Woozi is his executioner, and the malignant look flashes across that boy’s eyes. _

 

_ “I dare you to go into the pantry with Y/N for seven minutes.”  _

 

_ Your jaw refuses to drop, though you find your mind screaming at your so-called friend, because goddammit you should’ve seen this coming. You knew it was coming, and yet, to see the innocent elation flash across Mingyu’s eyes when he looks over at you, a part of your heart swells because could it really end that badly? _

 

_ (God, if only you knew.)  _

 

_ The space itself is a little tight considering how much space Mingyu takes up. His broad shoulders squeeze together out of consideration for you, but as soon as the doors shut with Woozi’s last words echoing through your head: “You have seven minutes, love birds!”  _

 

_ The dark-haired boy looks at you with an adorable sheepishness, “Sorry for dragging you into this.”  _

 

_ You shake your head, “Nah, s’okay. Woozi’s just evil.”  _

 

_ “You okay?” he suddenly asks, trying to step back. “You want me to move—” _

 

_ But all his back is met with is the shelves and an unopened bag of rice that had his stumbling just a bit. You’re about to ask him if he’s okay; however, his attempt to steady himself only leads into more stumbling and somehow you two wind up on the ground with him cushioning most of your fall.  _

 

_ “Oh fuck—!” you blink from the sudden impact, barely registering the sounds that ensue from the sudden trip.  _

 

_ “Ow!” he says among a few curses, blinking profusely as he sees you in all your glory right before him. “A-are you o-okay?”  _

 

_ You nod slowly, meeting his eyes with concern now melting off your visage. The only thing you can really focus on right now are his eyes, and the way they search yours for any hidden pain. His hands automatically finding purchase at your hips in a gentle manner. He looks like he wants to say something, but it’s like the words are caught on his tongue; you know you want to say something too, but it feels like your own words are stuck on your tongue.  _

 

_ The only thing running across your mind is just how much you’d like to feel his lips against yours and feel your heartbeat quickly. You want your thoughts to suddenly go quiet and to just live in that small moment with him, because being here with him somehow makes everything else melt away.  _

 

_ Slowly, but surely you lean in until your lips touch. You steady yourself by placing your hands on his shoulders, giving yourself enough leverage to pull him in closer. Unlike the previous kisses, even the ones from ages past, this one is completely different. It  _ **_feels_ ** _ different. The very taste of his lips are sweet albeit laced with traces of vodka and the sour gummy worms from the snacks table, they mold themselves to yours and coax only the tenderest of pleasure to flood across your body.  _

 

_ It feels like it last forever, but you two pull away to breathe. You’re heaving, chests both moving inward and outward in hopes of catching your breaths, but you feel like your heart has swelled so large, there’s no room for your lungs.  _

 

_ “I—” He tries to say, but you pull him again, just for one more taste. _

 

_ The magic happens again—the swelling of your very organ making you feel warm all over and not out of an increasing labidio. Nowhere in this are any far-from-innocent implications, only the genuine feelings of two friends, and yet that leaves questions imprinted on your mind and a sudden thought that has you blanching by the time Woozi swings open the door, snapping a photo that has you both breaking apart from the intrusive of the flash, because  _ holy fuck do I love my best friend?

 

_ You refuse to say a word to Woozi that night, but the look on his face seems to tell you that your secret with Mingyu is safe with him. Though it makes you feel heavy-hearted from the loss of his hands on your hips and the heat that only he seemed to be able to share so damn well. Even though these are things that seem so simple and so him, you can’t help but find them… endearing and heartwarming.  _

 

_ Something (read: everything) changes that night, and all you can think is a simple:  _ Fuck.

 

* * *

 

Your response is on the tip of your tongue, and you’re just about to do so until he beats you to the punch, “Because I still do.” 

 

You blink for a moment, realizing what he’s just said, “You do?” 

 

You turn to face him, watching as he nods with his attention still remaining on the ceiling. “I think about it a lot.” 

 

“Why?” you have to ask. You need to know. Even if it’s a simple reason, because even if it’s far from what you’re hoping for, you just want to know. It might even set ease to your heart, and really, that’s all you can hope for.

 

“There’s something I wish I said before Woozi came to get us,” he admits, smiling faintly. 

 

“Was that when I interrupted you with a kiss?” you ask, recalling the way his cheeks looked so faintly pink before it all melted away and the taste of the vodka and sour gummy worms had remained on your tongue then. 

 

This time he turns to look at you in surprise, “You remember that?” 

 

You nod, “Of course, sorry ‘bout that, by the way…”

 

His smiles even wider, reaching over to pat your head but he makes it about halfway before he lets his hand rest in the space between you two. 

 

“Well,” he sighs, eyes wandering elsewhere. You feel your nerves tighten up, because he hasn’t acted like this in a long time. “I… was going to tell you that I love— _ d _ you.”

 

You want to flinch or react somehow, but you don’t. You just watch him, feeling your heart flutter in the way he hesitated in his use of the word ‘love.’ Honestly, you don’t think you ever humored the idea of him loving you back then but it seemed to make sense. 

 

“When… did you realize?” you ask, reaching for his hand. He hesitates to hold yours, but you just entwine your fingers to tell him that it’s all okay. 

 

“Senior year,” he answers softly. “I don’t know how but when I saw you after that game where we won champs and the first thought that came to mind was you and seeing you there… I… I guess it just hit me that if there was anyone out there for me, then it’d be you. And not because you’re my only option or anything, but because if there was anyone in this world that I’d like to spend my life with then it’s you.” 

 

He continues after a soft laugh, “I didn’t know how to tell you, but then that kiss happened and I wanted to right then and there and…. I dunno I guess I got scared.” 

 

“‘M sorry, Gyu…” you sigh, giving his hand a squeeze. 

 

Before you can say another word, he replies quickly, “S’okay that you don’t feel the same!—”

 

“—I do!” you say a little too sudden, wincing from the sharp pain in your head. His eyes suddenly go wide, immediately asking if you’re alright. He’s about to get out of the bed just to go and grab you an aspirin but you pull him back down. “I’m fine, really, it’s just… I love you too, okay? I realized that when we kissed in the pantry and I’ve been trying to convince myself otherwise since then.” 

 

He remains in place as you wish, eyes softening as he asks, “Why?”

 

You laugh, almost bitterly, “Fear, I guess? I’ve lost plenty of people before, but losing you would be the worst blow of them all. I don’t think I could take you leaving me if things went wrong.”  

 

He watches you, almost expectantly, “Is there a ‘but’ somewhere there?” 

 

“But, we can’t go back from this, y’know,” you point out, slowly shifting your focus from your entwined hands to meet his eyes. Without even thinking, you find yourself feeling flushed and the corners of your lips begin to feel sore.

 

His brows are raised when he asks, “Do you want to?” 

 

“Well, honestly,” you admit, shaking your head. “No…” 

 

He grins wider than ever, “Good.”

 

A long silence casts between the two of you, though in that time you’re finally back in his arms with his warmth now seeping through his T-shirt and your hearts swelling larger than ever together. 

 

You feel the urge to knowing something, so you suddenly ask, “What the hell are we then?” 

 

“Whatever the hell you want us to be, babe,” he responds and presses his lips to the top your head. “As long as I’m with you, I’m okay, ‘kay?” 

 

Even now, it’s different. 

 

The morning rays of the sun begin to peek in through your window, and unlike the previous moments you’ve spent together, it isn’t nighttime. But the night is reserved for the special times, for the right-now’s you shared right then, and for the forevers you will share together.  

 

You can’t help but feel contentment in the ease of his presence and the excitement that will come as you two spend more time together. 

 

As long as you’re with him, you’re okay too, so you simply say, “‘Kay.”  

 


End file.
